


your poison running through my veins

by SapphireQueen



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Cunnilingus, Emma Frost HBIC, Emma helps her "see the light", F/F, Moira is confused and frustrated, Moira's perspective mostly, Oral Sex, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 07:05:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2058621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireQueen/pseuds/SapphireQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because in a world of right and wrong; Moira specifies lust and want in the darker side of the spectrum. </p><p>-</p><p>Takes place during First Class, after they take Emma from Russia, before Cuba.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your poison running through my veins

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to read this so badly and was so ashamed I couldn't find anything Emma/Moira related so I decided, HEY WHY NOT DO MY OWN? [i was also just indulging on my own fantasy because this idea got stuck to my head and i could not shake it off]  
> Enjoy :)

“We got her,” Erik says with a grin that’s just way too fucking _terrifying_ , full of teeth and edges. “We got Shaw’s right hand woman.”

Moira’s eyes dart directly to Charles, who nods at the affirmation; she motions at three of her men to follow her into the grand house, the rest picking up the soldiers left on the ground by Erik’s hunting spree. Charles and Erik immediately falling behind, scowls and tension in the air; she suspects that there’s an unspoken conversation behind her.

 _Let them be,_ She tells herself. _Better not get involved in whatever that is._

“Moira,” Charles says, putting a calming hand on her shoulder as they head down the hallway, about to enter the room where the blonde woman is locked up in. “The Russian minister and his men have all been wiped of the memory of ever being here, make sure your men carry them all carefully to safety,” She notices Charles giving Erik a droll stare. “And heal the ones you can,”

Erik’s face remains still, unfazed. “All in the name of America. Eh, Charles?”

Moira has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from laughing. She may not particularly trust Erik, but the man does have a way with words. “Will do,” She tells Charles, feeling his hand drop from her shoulder and he once again starts pacing behind her, alongside Erik.

If there was a word to describe Moira MacTaggert, it would be efficient. She knows how to do her job and she knows it well. “I want her taken into the CIA base where we’re staying at,” She says, opening the doors to the room. “Lock her down if you have too, I—” She freezes. Out of all the training she’s had, she had never been prepared for this. In front of her was the notorious Emma Frost, sitting, arms tied by metal bed frame, probably Erik’s work, clad only in white lingerie and high white boots.

Emma seems to pick up her discomfort immediately. “Hello, agent MacTaggert,” She smiles that sends a shiver down Moira’s spine, too comfortable for her own good. She almost wants to ask Erik to tighten the metal around her arms just a bit more, but she pushes the thought away. _Unprofessional, you’re better than that._

“She’s a telepath,” Charles says, sitting nearby some chairs, pouring a Scotch, he offers one to Erik, who takes it without stride. “She can also shift into diamond form.”

“She won’t be for a while, though,” Erik says taking a swing at his drink. “If she does, just give her a gentle tap.”

“Erik, is there really a need to be so hostile?”

“Hush, professor, let the agent do as she pleases.”

The thought almost chokes Moira _. Let her do as she pleases._ “Take her back to base, we’ll interrogate her there.” She barks the command before the blush creeps to her cheeks.  Both Charles and Erik are stunned at her tone, but decide to not question it. Her men do as told and pick her up from the floor, placing handcuffs on her arms behind her back. “For the love of God, someone dress her,”

Emma laughs, a stifling, husky sound that rides down Moira’s body and pools in her stomach. “I thought you liked me like this.”

One of the men take Emma’s coat from seat and exit the room, Moira immediately goes after, but heads the other direction.

 

* * *

 

Ever since Moira could remember, she’s denied herself the ability to want, to need or to feel anything other than her work.

What had become essential to her basic everyday life were never trivial things, they were more on the _militant_ side. Moira knows how to shot a gun, Moira knows how to use whatever is necessary to complete the job, she knows the inner workings of most government facilities she’s worked at and most importantly, Moira had never taken in much enjoyment for herself.

 _You got to be a strong woman,_ Her military father would say encouraging her this in a time were other families were encouraging to be pleasant and kind and sweet. _You need to be as ferocious as any man._

Never being one for the more feminine things in life, Moira carries herself with a strength and determination of a thousand men, or at least that was until she was faced with her own desires.

Because in a world of right and wrong; Moira specifies lust and want in the darker side of the spectrum.

 

* * *

 

Frost is being held at base; behind a two way see through surveillance mirror that Moira is a hundred percent sure she could easily break but decides for some reason not to. She’s sitting on a chair in the middle of the room, looking graceful and lovely as if she  _wasn't_  being locked in a prison cell and Moira wants to _claw her eyes out._ Moira wants to get cut and get under her skin and feel around, to see what _fucking_ type of spell she’s been put under.

 _I can hear you, you know._ A voice invades Moira’s head, smooth, serene and completely enticing. _Have to admire, Sugar, you’re passion for me is somewhat flattering._

Moira snorts, being thankful she’s the only one in the office now, her back against the wall, arms crossed against her chest.   _Stay the fuck out, Frost._

A laugh echoes around Moira, making her feel small, submissive. She stomps her heeled boots harder into the ground, assuring herself to stay still. _I know you’re type,_ Emma says taunting her. She stands up and walks towards the window, leaning an arm against it. Her cleavage at full visible view and Moira fucking hates herself because she can’t look away.  _You've never given in to your own wants, have you?_

An incredible storm of emotions run through Moira’s head. _Want. Need. Anger. Desire_. She bites her lower lip in restraint. Of lashing out, of speaking, of even fucking breathing because if she so much as takes in an inch of breath, she might as well surrender. And if Moira is anything, she’s stubborn.

“Fuck you, Frost,” She verbally states, exciting the office.

_I’m sure you will, darling._

 

* * *

 

“So,” Erik says, crossing his arms across his chest. Charles has asked for both of them to try to teach Alex restrain, so they’re both outside the bunker while Alex _is supposed_  burns one of the three mannequins they've placed inside. “Why do you think she hasn't escaped yet? I mean, she could. Easily.”

Her eyes focus harshly on the door and not on Erik himself, though she can feel that green gaze on her. It’s as if he knows what makes Moira’s skin crawl, she resents the fact that he probably noticed it because Charles picked it up. “Who knows? Maybe she’s waiting for something.”

Erik grins and quirks up an eyebrow. “She seems like she is.”

Moira doesn't get to comment because the fire alarm goes off and they go inside to see that Alex has burned all the mannequins expect the one he was supposed to. She’s glad for that.

 

* * *

 

She’s with Charles in his study one night, going over some of the reports of the Shaw incident. Erik has been banned from these by Charles and Moira doesn't want to question why.

He pours her a glass of whisky and sits opposite her on the separate seats when he asks, “Is something troubling you, love?”

Moira thumbs the glass nervously, not wanting to lash out at Charles, who’s been nothing but polite. “You’re the telepath, you tell me.”

Charles smiles unabashedly and leans back into his chair, crossing his legs. He balances his tumbler on his knee, still carefully holding it with his hand. “I don’t partake to poking around people’s thoughts,” He says, bouncing off the whisky in what appeared to be a nervous tick, but mostly is something  so characteristically Charles, she ignores the rather annoying sound the ice makes as it swings around the glass. “And you seem to be awfully uncomfortable lately.”

“Read me, then,” She says, nearly chugging down her drink. She puts the tumbler down the table. “I want to know what’s wrong so I can get it over with!”

Eyes widening open in surprise, Charles decides to do as he’s told. He puts his head up to his temple and a sudden silence washes over both of them. A couple of seconds go by, making Moira regret ever letting Charles in, for she’s too afraid herself of what he might find. Charles opens his eyes and puts his hand down. “Moira,” He says, trying to sound sympathetic, but Moira can see right through him, he’s completely unready for what he saw. “It’s okay to acknowledge these kinds of things, you know—”

“Charles,” She nearly shouts, fisting her hands around skirt. “I’m not a—I can’t—”

“Well, you’re attracted to Frost and you can’t help that,” He says as a matter of fact. He finishes his glass and swipes down the corner of the room to pour himself a new one. “Just like Erik and I can’t help it, it’s just who we are,” Moira’s mouth gapes open a bit; she had suspected but had never commented on it, though. To have verbal affirmation was just _relieving_.  “The sooner you come to terms with it, the happier you’ll be.”

Picking up from the table her empty tumbler, she walks towards Charles. “I’ll take your word on it,” She says, as Charles pours more of that sweet amber liquid that makes her feel _just a bit_ better.

 

* * *

 

Without word or warning, Moira barges into the room Emma’s being held in. Her brown eyes clash with Frost’s blue ones and it makes her wants to scream in frustration.

“You’re back,” Emma says teasingly as she stands up from her metal bed. Moira closes the door behind her. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Violently taking Emma’s face between her hands, Moira does the one thing she’s wanted to do ever since she first saw this blonde-headed succubus in that club in Vegas—she kisses her.

Emma Frost tastes cold and bitter, yet there’s a tang of fire underneath her. A melting pool of desire curls around Moira’s belly as Emma kisses her back, as violent and merciless as Moira does. Acting like she expected this, Frost wraps her arms around Moira’s waist, who is still standing and makes her crash on top of her, both of the lying on her cold, metal bed.

A hand runs down Moira’s auburn hair and it makes her shiver. “About time,” She says, snaking her hand down Moira’s spine, to the curve of her ass. “You’re so beautiful.”

Glad for the base to be completely empty, Moira knees on Emma’s side, sitting on top of her, careful not to put any weight on her. “If you tell me to stop, I will,” She says. “You could probably force me too.”

Flashing a grin, Emma takes Moira’s hand and places it on the zipper of her dress. “Go ahead.”

Zipping her dress down to her waist, Moira is greeted by a white lace brassiere. Her mouth is salivating and everything is completely new and weird and erotic and exciting and Moira has no fucking clue what to do so she first thing she does it jam her head against the curve of Emma’s soft, luscious neck.

“Oh,” Emma moans, and damn it if it isn't the most spine tingling sound Moira’s ever heard, she wants to preserve it in her head, keep it in a crystal ball and have it forever. She kisses and licks and tastes Emma’s skin until she starts tracing kisses down her neck, to the mountains her chest creates.  Unclasping the front of her bra, Emma’s breasts fall into a perfect curves and Moira just stares at her before hitching a breath and doing what instinct told her, she took her right nipple into her mouth and starts softly flicking her left. Emma moans against, making Moira feel _wet_ and her legs feel weak.

Emma pushes her back off the bed and Moira wraps her legs around Emma’s waist, still sitting on top of her. Yanking Moira’s jacket off, Emma runs her hands underneath her sweater cups her small breasts. Moira moans and takes it off, without putting much effort into the fight. She had already surrender herself, hadn't she?

Unclasping Moira’s black brassiere, Emma takes one slow, deep, burning lick between the valley of her breasts before taking one into her mouth and massaging the other.  “ _F—Fuck_ ,” She moans into Emma’s hair as her head bubs up to kiss her, deeply this time. Emma’s hand on the back of Moira’s head, softly yanking at her hair --and _godfuckingdamnit_ – if Moira wasn't turned on.

 _Didn't_ _take you for using curse words, love._

_Don’t make me regret this._

_You won’t._ Emma leaves confidently as she edges back and practically slams Moira’s back on the bed, the pain being enticing to Moira’s body. Emma lowers herself on the bed and separate Moira’s legs they are completely separated, by the sides of the bed. Moira blushes. _You’ve never done this with a woman before, haven’t you?_

Moira almost wants to laugh. With a woman? She’d hardly done it with a man either. _Don’t mock me._

 _I’m not._ She says tenderly as he stars hiking up Moira’s skirt, a pair of silk black underwear underneath. Emma’s fingertips gracefully nudge at her opening, softly nudging circles around her, making Moira underneath her squirm in delight, face flushed and hair stick with sweat. Taking Moira’s legs up she drags down her panties by her thighs, down her legs and pass her boots until they are lying on the floor, Emma makes them separate again and she lips her own lips.

Feeling courteous, Emma takes the sleeves of her dress but stays with her skirt on. She takes the pillow she’s been given to by the guards and props Moira’s head comfortably. “I want you to see me,” She says breathlessly. “As you come undone.”

Moira shivers in anticipation as Emma rubs against her clit—one, two, three, four—more times until she replaces her fingers with her mouth and tongue. Moira moans. “ _Oh god,”_

Lifting her by her lower back, Emma deepens her tongue, licking from down to up, pushing herself into Moira’s flesh, the sinful taste of Moira surrounding her, making her lick, suck, taste everything. _Say my name, love. Be a good girl._

 _“Emma,”_ Moira breathes it out, panting against the feel of Emma _fucking_ Frost between her legs, tongue darting in and out of her as deep stabs of pleasure correlate her body. “Emma— _fuck,”_

After a couple of minutes of Emma practically devouring her, she gives her one last, long lick at her clit before separating herself, Moira whimpers. “Shh, it’s not over yet,” Emma reassures as she props herself up against Moira and kisses her, making Moira taste herself against Emma’s lips.

With a loud gasp, Emma slips in two fingers in Moira. “Ah—ah,” She moans, as Emma continues to push in and out of her, focusing more on Moira’s pleasure than her own. The waves that Moira projects are enough to make Emma as hot and wet as Moira; she slams her lips against her, making Moira moan into her kiss, muffled sounds being crushed by Emma’s tongue as it swirls around Moira’s.

Moira starts jerking her hips against Moira’s hand and Emma smiles, letting Moira set her own pace. She curls in fingers around until Moira practically screams. “Ugh, fuck _, right there_ ,” She screams, throwing her head back into the pillow. Emma sits upright and watches as Moira rides her hand, fucking until she’s sweating and swearing _and she can’t fucking think straight._ Riding off Moira’s orgasm, Emma starts fingering her own clit and it didn’t take much for Emma to completely unravel, watching Moira’s sweat glistened chest rise and fall with excitement. She came within minutes.

Heavy breaths filled the air as both women stared at each other unsure of what to do next. They both sit, noticing that for the first time in her adult life, Moira MacTaggert gave into her desires. Emma grins and sips her dress back up, not bothering to put on her bra. Moira sits back up and does the same.

After dressing themselves, Moira stands up and walks towards the door, putting her hand on the knob. “Why haven’t you escaped?” She asks. “You obviously can.”

“Why bother?” Emma says, lying back down on her bed, staring at the ceiling. “You’re going to face Shaw tomorrow and God knows I’m not going to be much of help to him all the way here.” She looks at Moira, who’s staring right back at her. “I’ll go when my time comes. There’s a lot you don’t know about your comrades, Moira.”

Moira is suddenly overwhelmed with the sensation of not wanting to go. To stay here and make Emma say her name, which sounded so good coming from her lips, with the same intensity, the same amount of pleasure that she did… but she had a job to do. She weakly smiles at her. “Goodbye, Frost.”

Emma smiles. “Until next time, MacTaggert.”

 

* * *

 

The next day, when Charles sees her, he instantly blushes. A mad dash of memories and emotions swelling in Moira’s chest. It had been her own fault; really, she was nearly projecting what happened.

Charles coughs awkwardly as he boards the X-Jet. “Glad you came to terms with that.”

“Yeah,” Moira smiles, sitting on the pilot seat next to Hank, who now seemed to be furry and fuzzy. “So did I.”

**Author's Note:**

> Did you enjoy? Is there anything I can improve on? I am open to criticism. Please leave a comment if you want and thank you for taking the time to read this :D


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